‘I didn’t know you was coming.’
The circle of light floated back to the table, where it was set down, and for a little while the only sound was of ravenous eating, mouthfuls barely chewed, famished gulps. Lily lay in the dark, silent and unmoving, her heart trembling.
‘What else is there?’
‘Apples, if you want.’
‘Apples! What do I want with apples?’
The glow of light rose again and hovered along one bare shelf and then the other. It crossed to the cupboard, examined the emptiness within, it reached into the back corners of a drawer and still found nothing.
‘What do he pay you, that parson of yours?’
‘Not enough. You told me that before.’
She tried not to think of her savings, safe in the parson’s desk drawer, for fear the hovering light would reveal them to him.
A click of exasperation came out of the darkness.
‘Why haven’t you got me a bit of something sweet? What do you do for him, up at that parsonage? Apple pie? Bread pudding with damson jam? All sorts, I bet.’
‘I will, next time.’
‘Don’t you forget.’
‘I won’t.’
Now that her eyes had adjusted, she could make out his shape in the dark. He sat at the table, his back to her, the shoulders of his coat sticking out wider than the frame beneath them; he was still in his wide-brimmed hat. By the sound of it, he was counting the money. She held her breath.
When the money wasn’t right, it was she who got the blame for it. What had she taken? Where had she hidden it? What selfish plan was she brewing with it? What kind of loyalty did she call that? There were no answers to these questions that would satisfy him. Whatever she said, her answers were always met with his fists. The truth was, she had never once taken his money – she might be stupid, but she wasn’t that stupid. The money did puzzle her though. She had questions of her own she’d have liked to ask, but didn’t dare. She had pieced together where it came from well enough. Overnight and coinciding with his visits, those bottles and barrels full of a potent and illegal brew appeared in her woodshed. There they remained through daylight hours, and with the next darkness they disappeared, taken by his distributors and replaced by money for the next delivery. But what happened to the money after he’d got it? In a single night he took more money from the hiding place here than she earnt in a month at the parsonage, and she was sure he had other places that worked the same way too. He was hiding out in some place where there was no rent to pay, didn’t gamble and never paid for a woman. He didn’t touch drink either – never had, only encouraged others to ruin and emptied their purses in exchange. She’d tried to add it up, the money he had from here in a year, doubled or trebled, or multiplied seven-fold, but the numbers set her head spinning. Even without coming to the end of her sums she knew it was enough to make him rich, yet he turned up here, once a week or twice, in his ancient coat smelling of the distillery, all skin and bone, and famished. He ate her food and helped himself to her candles. She didn’t dare keep a single nice thing in the cottage, because whatever it was he would take it, sell it, and the money would disappear. Even a pair of green woollen gloves with holes in the fingers would disappear into his pockets. There was a mystery in Vic’s life that sucked all his money into it, and all hers too. Except what she had the parson keep back for her. It didn’t make sense.
He gave a grunt of satisfaction and she breathed again. The money was right. With that done, he now leant back in the chair and took a breath. He always relaxed once he’d counted the money. She didn’t.
‘I always done all right by you, didn’t I, Lil?’
‘Always,’ she responded, and before she answered she made a silent apology to God for lying. God understood that there were times a person just couldn’t tell the truth.
‘Looked after you better than your old ma ever did, eh?’
‘You did, yes.’
He made a sound of contentment in the back of his throat.
‘So what do you want to go calling yourself Lily White for?’
Lily’s throat tightened. ‘You said not to use your name when I come here. Nothing to connect us, you said, so …’
‘Didn’t have to be White, though, did it? Could’ve chose any name under the sun. That Whitey, he was no husband to you anyway. Not in the eyes of the Lord. Do he know that, your parson?’
‘No.’
‘No,’ he repeated with satisfaction. ‘I didn’t think so.’ He let the implied threat hang in the air before going on, ‘I’m no fool, Lil. I knows why you chose that name. Shall I tell you?’
‘Tell me.’
‘You cling to that name like you never clung to the man himself. Lily White. Innocent and blameless, like the lilies of the field. That’s what you like, isn’t it?’
She swallowed.
‘Speak up, Lil! Can’t hardly hear you. But naming a thing don’t make it so. You cling to that name like it’ll wash you clean, same way as you scour this table, same way as you clean for that parson. Like it’ll redeem you … Aren’t I right, Lil?’
He took her agreement for granted.
‘See, I know you, Lily. But what’s done is done. There’s no getting round it, some things can’t never be scrubbed away.’
It was all she could do to keep her tears silent, but then even that was too much: her throat quivered and the next spasm of tears sounded loud in the room.
‘Don’t go upsetting yourself,’ he said calmly. ‘Things could be worse. You got me, haven’t you?’
She nodded.
‘Eh?’
‘Yes, Vic.’
‘I wonders whether you deserves me, sometimes. You’ve let me down at times, Lil.’
‘I’m sorry, Vic.’
‘So you say. More than once I’ve been disappointed in you. Running off with Whitey. Years it took me to find you then. Any other man would’ve given up on you, but I didn’t.’
‘Thank you, Vic.’
‘But are you grateful, Lil?’
‘’Course I am!’
‘Really?’
‘Truly!’
‘So why’d you go letting me down again? That girl at the Swan …’
‘They wouldn’t let me take her, Vic. I tried, I tried my best, but there were two of them and—’
He wasn’t listening. ‘Could’ve made a fortune round the fairs with that. The Dead Girl That Lived Again. Imagine the queues. You could’ve given up skivvying for the parson, and with your honest face the queue to see her would’ve been a mile long. ’Stead of that she’s gone up to the Vaughans’ place, I hear.’
She nodded. He brooded, and she thought, Perhaps that will be it. Perhaps he’s gone to that dreaming place he goes to when he’s had something to eat and got some money in his pocket, the place where he makes his secret plans. But then he spoke again.
‘We stick together, you and me, don’t we?’
‘Yes, Vic.’
‘It’s like there’s a thread that joins us together. No matter how far you go or how long you’re gone, that thread is always there. You know it is, ’cause sometimes there’s a tug on it … You know that feeling, don’t you, Lil? Except it’s more than a tug, it’s more like a boxer’s fist in your chest that gives your heart a great wallop.’
She knew the feeling. She’d felt it many a time. ‘Yes, Vic.’
‘And we know what it is, don’t we?’
‘Yes, Vic.’
‘Family!’ He let out a profound sigh of satisfaction.